A Night in the Lot
by deimosandphobos
Summary: POV Johnny Cade. A short story about how Johnny is woken up in the lot one night and winds back up at the Curtis' house with a friend.
1. Chapter 1

"Hey, kid."

A wave of panic rolled through Johnny's body as he realized that someone was talking to him—someone with a voice he didn't recognize. His hand automatically crept to the switchblade that he had taken to carrying in his back pocket, the tips of his fingers prickling angrily with the loss of feeling from the cold February air. He looked up, trying to discern the person who was speaking to him from the darkness. _God, it was cold._ His eyes finally adjusting, Johnny could see a gangly looking boy with dark hair staring down at him questioningly, his hair slicked back in an oily sheen which reflected the moonlight of the exposed night sky above him. _Greaser._ Johnny felt relief flood through his body as he took his hand off the outline of his switchblade. _What time was it?_

The boy started again. "I was comin' down the…I mean, I was comin' back from the…" He waved his hands vaguely to the left. "From the…bar up the road, and I almost tripped over ya." He swayed lightly, looking around indistinctly as if he had forgotten what he had been going to say. As his eyes made their way back to where Johnny was sitting again, he gave a little start as he seemed to remember. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay." He shoved his hands in his pockets.

Johnny felt a vague discomfort clamp down on his brain as he realized that this guy was drunk. "Erm..." He cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just takin' a nap." He trailed off listlessly looking away from the stranger's gaze.

"Can't ya find somewhere better to sleep than out here? I'm fucking freezing."

Johnny felt a dull ache of pain throb through the right side of his face. _Not tonight._ He lied. "It…don't bug me much." He moved to sit up, struggling slightly as his jacket was stiff from the crusted over beginnings of frost. "I don't really get cold that easy."

The boy shrugged underneath a worn leather jacket. "Whatever, kid. You got a cigarette?"

"Sure…" He mumbled, his hand moving deftly to the pocket of his jean jacket where he kept his pack and dug out two of his cigarettes. Well, technically, they weren't _his_ cigarettes—he never really had any money to buy any—but Pony had forfeited him his pack since Darry had been gettin' on him about it lately with track season coming up. Pony said it might help him to calm his nerves. _Yeah…right._

The stranger sat down next to him, falling down a little heavily, as they both lit up. They sat in silence for a while, the glowing embers of the cigarettes casting a warm glow onto their faces as the heat of the cigarette began to bring some feeling back into the tips of Johnny's fingers. Johnny could feel the other boy staring at him and knew he was going to ask. He felt his shoulders tense up and nervously began messing with the ends of the hair falling in his eyes. The stranger motioned towards the side of Johnny's face, breaking the silence. "What happened there?"

Johnny was sure he flushed red—good thing it was dark. "Fight…" Johnny said lamely. Self-consciously he lifted his hand to the raised portion of broken skin along the side of his cheek-bone where he had been punched. It throbbed dully to the touch, but it didn't feel like it was bleeding anymore. The unpleasant mixture of fear and shame crept into his mind as he was tempted to remember the bad mood his father had been in a couple hours ago, but he tried hard to stifle it. _Don't think about it._ He focused on the smoke drifting lazily out of the end of his cigarette. _Don't think about it._

Realizing Johnny wasn't going to explain further, the boy took a long draw from his cigarette. He looked back towards from the direction he had been walking from. "Fight, huh? Yeah, me too." He leaned backward, puffing a circle of smoke into the night sky. "My buddy…my buddy Tim was supposed to give me a ride home, but uh…I kinda got thrown out before I could find him. So I just, just started walkin' towards home." He pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees and looked back at Johnny. "You don't, uh, know which direction Woodland Acres is do you?"

Johnny had heard of it before; some run-down apartment complex a couple miles away; he was pretty sure Dally's gal Sylvia lived there. This kid was pretty far from home if he lived in Woodland Acres. And to get there, you had to cross that part of the lot where the Soc's occasionally liked to hang out. Where that Blue Mustang had been driving around that one time, where the Soc's had found him and…

 _Don't think about it._

Johnny felt his hands shaking as he took another long drag from his cigarette.

"You said you were with your buddy Tim." Johnny's voice came out weakly into the darkness. The other boy looked at him and nodded blankly. "Tim…Tim Shepard?"

The drunk stranger broke into a smile. "Yeah. You know him?"

"Yeah, he hangs around with us sometimes." Making a decision, Johnny stood up. He offered the other boy a hand. "Why don't you come with back with me? I got a couch you can crash on if ya need a place for the night. I don't think you want to try walkin' back home this late."

The other boy hesitated a second, then grabbed his hand and swung himself up, accidentally pitching into Johnny's side—he was a good deal taller than Johnny and unsteady on his feet. A sharp pain radiated through Johnny's ribs where he had been hit earlier, making his vision go red for a moment. He put an arm around the stranger, trying to steady him. "Yeah, okay." The boy mumbled.

Johnny helping to prop him up, the two started towards the Curtis' house in this weird procession, Johnny silently praying that this stranger would have the good sense to be quiet and not wake everyone up. Darry usually worked pretty early and the last thing Johnny wanted to do was to piss him off.


	2. Chapter 2

_This kid was heavier than he looked._ Johnny was struggling for breath by the time they'd made it to his neighborhood, his ribs aching with a dull pain that throbbed with every step. Part of his exhaustion was probably from the fight with his dad earlier, but God—he needed to start laying off the cigarettes. The stranger, however, seemed entirely oblivious to Johnny's struggles as he leaned heavily on his shoulder, trying not to trip over his feet.

"Break…" It came out as a mumble. Johnny cleared his throat and tried again. "Break. Let's take a break." He pulled the stranger off, setting him down heavily on the ground before collapsing next to him, then leaning back and stretching out into the frozen grass. His heartbeat flooded his senses, pounding through his skull, reminding him how out of shape he was _. Was it possible for someone's heart to explode?_ He'd have to remember and ask Pony tomorrow—he would know. Pony didn't think it, but he was one of the smartest people Johnny knew. These nights that Johnny spent out here alone with his thoughts, he couldn't help but wonder why Pony liked to hang out with him so much. Or really, why any of them liked to hang around him. He wasn't smart or funny or tuff or…nothing. He was just quiet. Quiet and sad.

He stared at one of the stars peering through the hazy fog of clouds above him as he tried to think about something else. He got like this a lot, probably since he was always by himself. He sometimes wondered if everyone got like this when they were alone. Maybe that's why he loved the Curtis' house so much—there was always so much going on there. People were always running through the house and the tv was always blaring through the living room; it was so chaotic that you could barely think, much less have time to be sad. He wanted more than anything for his own home to be like that.

"Mmmmphhh." Johnny was snapped out of his thoughts as he looked over at the stranger, who had fallen over while struggling to dig something out of his pocket. Hunched over on the ground, Johnny saw the kid's shoulders shaking, bobbing up and down like he was crying. Johnny went to put a hand on his shoulder but pulled away when he realized the kid was laughing.

"What?" When he didn't answer, Johnny pushed the kid lightly, trying to get his attention. "What?" He said again, this time slightly annoyed.

"I lost it!" He had rolled onto his back at this point, hands resting on his stomach as he laughed upwards into the sky. "I can't believe I lost it."

"Lost what?"

"Her number!" The stranger sat up quickly, turning towards Johnny and making him jump slightly. He didn't like when people moved at him that fast.

"That's what I got in a fight about." He turned back away from Johnny, one arm draped over his knee, the back of his leather jacket covered in grass. "I got a girl's number and her guy came over and…." He exhaled slowly. "Man, she was a dime." He lapsed into silence again as his head drooped down lethargically to rest sideways on his arm.

 _Jesus. This guy was hammered._ Johnny reconsidered if he should bring him to the Curtis', but at this point, he didn't really have any other choice. There was no way his own house was an option and Johnny didn't have enough strength to lug this kid back up the hill to whatever bar he came from. He entertained the idea of just letting him sleep out here— _he could go grab him some blankets_ —but no, he couldn't do that. It was too cold for people to be sleeping out here tonight. Well, for people that weren't used to it. Anyway, this guy looked like he'd really appreciate a nice, warm couch to crash on.

Resolved, Johnny stood back up, using his weight to help the stranger lumber to his feet before continuing down the street. In order to get to the Curtis' he had to pass by his house—he hoped to God that everyone was inside, no one on the porch smokin' a cigarette. Through the cold and exhaustion that was pressing in on his mind, he wondered vaguely if his mom was okay…that's kind of what started his fight with his dad earlier. _Don't think about it_. But he couldn't stop, his brain continually returning to it over and over, picking at it like a scab.

…

He'd been hiding in his room, staring at the yellowing mark of water damage spreading unevenly across the ceiling, when he'd heard his mother shrieking downstairs. He'd ignored it, trying just to just sit and do nothing…think nothing, when he'd heard a loud thud and glass shattering followed by a wail. Then a door slammed.

He laid there for a moment, his conscience fighting against his fear on what to do. Taking a deep breath, he decided on what was probably the stupider choice, and slowly left the safety of his room to walk downstairs.

Quiet for once, he saw his mother hunched in a corner, her back against the wall and her hand guarding a spot of blood streaming down the side of her face. On the ground next to her were the remnants of a coke glass that had been thrown, the wall glistening with a wet, sticky sheen. He'd run over to her, kneeling to look at the cut she was protecting.

"What?" Her voice came out shaky, choked with sobs. Timidly, Johnny moved to lightly pull her hand away.

"Get off."

Johnny pulled his hand back, staying crouched down next to her silently, looking down.

"I said get off!" His mother screamed at him, shoving him hard enough that he had toppled to the floor and slammed his head against the couch.

He'd heard the door swing open behind him. _Shit._

"What are you doing?" His father boomed out behind him. "She's fine."

Feeling numb, Johnny had slowly stood up, saying nothing as he stared pointedly at the floor. His eyes were drawn to a mess of empty beer cans clustered in the corner by the television.

"Hey. Didn't you hear me?" His father's speech slurred out, Johnny's eyes flicking towards the open drink he had clenched in his hand. He had frozen, wishing he could be somewhere, anywhere else. His father had taken a step towards him, then leaned over to look at his wife laying on the floor. "Why the fuck does he never talk?"

His mother's voice raised into a whine behind him, Johnny still frozen—terrified—between the two of them. "Why would he talk to an asshole like you?"

"Hey!" He barked out, pointing at his wife. "You shut the fuck up. And you.." He had pointed at Johnny, simultaneously taking another step towards him so they were almost chest-to-chest. Johnny kept his eyes trained carefully on the ground, his father looming over him, reeking of cheap beer and stale cigarettes. _Why hadn't he just stayed upstairs?_

"What is _your_ problem?" He tapped him lightly on the chest. "Can't even say hi to your old man? Is it that…" He paused, his voice dropping to be quieter—dangerous. "Is it cause you think you're better than me? Better than all of this?" He had raised his arms, gesturing to the room. "Cause let me tell you, you little shit. You're not. And I'm a goddamn tired of your attitude." He paused to take a sip of his drink, then set it down on the couch. Johnny was still looking at the floor but tensed up knowing it was coming. He hit the ground hard as a heavy hand had smashed into the side of his face. Lights popped in his eyes and his vision went fuzzy as he felt an intense pain reverberate from the back of his skull.

 _Just lay still, it will be over sooner._

His dad had thundered on. "Don't think that I haven't seen you out there with your little friends, fuckin' around while I go to work every day." Johnny groaned as a foot connected solidly with his ribs. "Workin' to feed you and your whore mother." Another kick…his vision starting to blacken at the edges.

"Fuck you!" Roared out behind him, throbbing dully through his senses. The sound like it was coming from underwater. Vaguely, he saw mother and father fighting, their figures blurring and blackening into a series of dancing shadows.

Then…nothing.

…

He had woken up on the ground later, his mother nowhere to be seen, his father snoring loudly from the couch.

After he'd quietly disappeared out the back door, he'd run to the lot, collapsing onto the ground and curling up into a ball to stay warm. He must have fallen asleep really fast because that was the last thing he remembered before he'd almost being stepped on by this stranger. He was going to have to ask Pony to check him over later…something still wasn't feeling quite right. His head felt heavy and his thoughts felt like they were swimming through soup.

There was no one on the porch. He felt his whole body relax a little as they quietly made their way in front of Johnny's house without anyone inside noticing. Although he tried to avoid looking towards the house, telling himself he didn't care, he couldn't help but steal a glance into the kitchen, hoping for some indication that his mother was alright. He honestly wasn't sure why he had tried to help earlier. She never wanted his help. he could see the bluish glow flickering

Finally, he could see the light of the Curtis' porch shining out through the darkness like a beacon. It seemed like ages that he had been trudging along with this stranger draped over him, his mind and body both pushed to the brink of exhaustion. The squeal of the rusty gate made Johnny cringe as they pushed their way into the yard, across the porch and up to the front door of the Curtis' house. Johnny prayed that this stranger would have to good sense to be quiet as he moved to turn the knob and push his way into the dark house of the sleeping brothers.


	3. Chapter 3

"Goddamnit…"

"Shhhhhhhh!"

Johnny desperately tried to shush the dark-haired boy as he rammed one of his shins into the coffee table, the empty bottles of soda pop sitting on top rattling together with a noise that made his teeth clench.

"I know, I know…" The stranger mumbled under his breath, too drunk to care. "Shhhhh!" He mimicked clumsily back to Johnny, his finger pressed against his lips and his eyebrows raised in mock seriousness, that in a different situation, Johnny may have found funny. The stranger's head bobbed lazily as he slumped onto the couch behind him, then leaned over and tried to untie his boots, fumbling with the laces. Johnny turned and quietly made his way into the kitchen, guiding his step by the small slants of the porch light shining through the blind windows. The light illuminating the floor started to dance in his mind, the slants of light pushing in and out of one another in a dizzying routine.

 _God, something didn't feel right._ He closed his eyes, taking a breath and feeling a pressure pound inside his head. _Calm down._ His hand crept up to rub the back of his skull and a sharp stab of pain shot through his body as his fingers hovered over a large bump that had started to form. He must have hit his head on the floor. The fight with his dad had blended into a haze, but he remembered a crack of pain coming from the back of his head after he'd hit the ground from that first punch. _Right before he'd crumpled up like a coward._ He forced himself to take another deep breath, trying to slow the heart-beat that was hammering through his chest like a drum. _He could really use a cigarette._ He opened up his eyes again, his vision having returned to normal, and moved to support himself against the counter, enjoying a moment of quiet for himself and appreciating how warm the inside of the Curtis' house was. The stiffness of his frozen jean jacket sleeves had started to loosen and began to bleed wetness into the material. Johnny soundlessly opened up one of the cabinets, took out a glass and winced as the sink faucet turned on with a squeal.

He returned to the living room, where the boy was still struggling to take off his first boot, and handed him the water. "Drink this." His voice cut softly into the darkness. The stranger stopped messing with his shoelaces and accepted it, glugging it down with two hands. _Water and sleep._ No matter what anyone else said, it was the only sure way Johnny knew to get someone to sober up. That is, assuming that he didn't pay any mind to Two-Bit's advice. Two-Bit was always coming up with different "fixes" for hangovers that he swore up and down would put a man sober. Just earlier this week, Johnny had walked into the Curtis' living room to see a rough-looking Two-bit miserably drinking down a couple of raw eggs, swearing he'd be right as rain in an hour. Johnny doubted that was true, but both and Ponyboy had left to go walking around soon after, so he never got to find out.

All finished, the boy set the drink down on the coffee table unevenly, the glass clattering noisily onto its side and rolling into a couple of half-empty soda cans. The noise made Johnny's senses tingle, uncomfortably aware of how loud they were being. His only hope was that the Curtis' would ignore it – after all, they were used to people turning up in their living room when they needed a place to sleep for the night, himself included. Johnny imagined that trying to pretend not to hear people thumping around your living room in the middle of the night would turn you into a pretty heavy sleeper. You'd think that keeping the door unlocked and letting strangers come through your house wouldn't be the best idea, but everyone in town knew the Curtis'. And anyone that had seen Darry Curtis wasn't going to try and steal from him.

A throb of pain thumped blandly through his body as he helped the stranger finish up taking off his boots and then went to fetch him a blanket. Walking to the closest where a handful of spare blankets was kept, Johnny felt…floaty. As if he could see his body going through the motions, but his head was somewhere else. He watched his hands move to throw the blanket towards the boy and then felt himself crawl quietly into a space on one of the arm-chairs. He closed his eyes, struggling to nail down any sort of thought against the never-ending pulse of pressure pushing into his skull. While he was still in pain, he felt distant from it - a big block of ice that was slowly melting into the warmth of the arm-chair. His mind felt slow and stupid, as if it was trying to push through gravel.

 _Something doesn't feel right._

This thought was lost to the darkness as he gave in to his exhaustion, falling into a deep, much-needed sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

"Johnny."

He reluctantly felt himself being pulled back to consciousness as a large hand started shaking his shoulder. Slowly he opened his eyes, feeling disoriented and trying to remember how he had ended up in this armchair. Every time the memory felt like it was about to surface it was buried beneath the thrum of pressure humming in his mind. His vision blurred at the edges and he was struggling to focus on anything, the warm hand on his shoulder the only thing pulling him down to the present. He felt his eyes lift up and he was able to make out a large shadow looming over him in the darkness, silhouetted against the porch light leaking in from outside.

"Darry?" His voice sounded small and foreign against the weight of the darkness.

"Yeah, kiddo." The deep voice rasped out quietly. "I'm getting ready to go to work and I…mumble…and I thought…mumble, mumble…" Johnny looked up at Darry with confusion as his words melted into nonsense. Everything sounded quiet compared to the pressure screaming through his brain.

"Hey." It came out sharp, and Johnny was able to hear that one. He heard a snapping noise and was able to focus on a blurry hand making some motions at the side of his vision. "Johnny." The voice sounded worried. "I need you to focus on this." The noise continued and Johnny struggled to keep his attention focused on the snapping fingers. His head felt heavy and all he wanted was to go back to sleep. _Why did no one ever just leave him alone?_

"Mmmmmhmmmm…I'm…f..ne….mf…" The sound felt weird in his throat, as if it was coming from someone else. He had meant to tell Darry that he was fine, but he was struggling to string the words together. His tongue felt heavy and useless.

The shadow loomed closer and Johnny could make out a hint of the icy blue color of Darry's worried eyes scanning over the side of his face where he'd been punched. "What happened here?" The voice had lost its sharp edge.

 _Focus._ He tried to speak again, his lips feeling chapped and tight from the cold. "Just a…a…" _Focus._ "Just a fight." He tried to smile reassuringly, but it came out as a grimace as he felt his bottom lip crack open painfully and bead with blood. "No big deal."

Darry was quiet a moment, then moved to turn Johnny's face to the side as he more closely examined the injury. His voice came out quiet and he kept his eyes trained on the cut spanning across his cheekbone. "Soc's or your old man?"

"…old man." He should feel embarrassed, but it was really hard to feel anything when it felt like his head was about to explode.

"He get ya anywhere else?"

"My head..." His voice sounded shaky and he pointed to the back of his head where he'd smacked it against the ground. "Darry, my head… it hurts real bad… somethings not…" He stopped, feeling like he might start crying if he continued.

"It's okay…it's okay, Johnny…mumble… gonna be…okay…" Darry murmured reassurances as he leaned Johnny forward, the large hand moving off his shoulder and gently prodding at the back of his head. Johnny inhaled sharply as Darry brushed against a large knot, a fiery stab of pain distracting him momentarily from the pounding in his skull.

Darry kept murmuring, telling Johnny it was going to be okay. "Can you stand? I need to … but… and Soda will be …" The voice faded in and out as if it was coming from in and out from underwater.

Johnny nodded and shakily pushed himself up from the armchair, letting Darry help guide him to the bathroom. "I'll be right back…" Johnny was left sitting on the edge of the tub, the light that had been turned on pulsating painfully in time with the throbbing in his skull. He vacuously stared down at his shoes and the floor, letting their patterns merge together and swim in front of him.

"Hey, Johnnycakes." And then there was Soda, a warm smile spread across his sleepy face as he crouched next to Johnny, a hand on his knee. The dark shadow of Darry loomed behind him in the doorway, dressed in his roofing uniform.

Soda continued, his voice slow and steady. "I need you to do something for me. It's gonna sound stupid, but do it anyway, alright?" Johnny nodded weakly. "Can you name ten things that start with the letter M?"

Johnny hesitated a second, confused why he was being asked this question. "Erm…a mouse. And a…movie, a motor…and… and a…mouse?" _Shit, he'd already said that._ Or, at least he thought maybe he did. He couldn't really remember. He lapsed into silence, returning his gaze to his shoes as he tried to think of more words that started with the letter M.

Soda cast a glance back at Darry before continuing. The tiles of the bathroom floor started to intermix and swim before his eyes again before the hand patted his knee, pulling back his attention to the smiling face in front of him. "One more trick, Johnny. Promise. Can you go like this?" Soda held his hand up in front of Johnny's face, slowly touching each one of his fingers to his thumb and then repeating in the opposite direction.

Johnny held his fingers up, focusing to try and repeat the motion that he had just seen. His fingers felt distant as he pressed them together, the movement slow and clumsy.

"It's okay, Johnnycakes. You can stop."

"Am I…alright?"

"Course, kiddo. A little worse for wear, but nothin' we can't patch up." Soda tapped his knee and turned to go out to the hallway and talk with Darry, their whispers echoing through the quiet house. Johnny looked back down at his torn, worn-out shoes, trying to focus on anything other than the pain in his head. Even through the roaring of his mind he made out whispers of Darry and Soda's conversation, fear dropping into his stomach as he gathered that they thought he had a concussion. _He just wanted to go back to the warmth of the arm-chair._

Soda returned, his classic smile pasted over his face as he slowly told Johnny that Darry had to go to work, but he was gonna help out. "First, water." He handed Johnny a glass and waited until he'd finished the whole amount before taking it gently and placing it on the edge of the dingy sink. "Next, we're gonna get you into somethin' dry. Come on." He put two hands out, helping Johnny off the floor of the bathroom and led him into his bedroom, setting him down gently onto his side of the bed and quietly fetching some clothes from a pile stacked in the corner of the floor. "Arms up." Soda whispered, trying not to wake Pony, who was snoring contentedly from underneath a bundle of blankets. Johnny's arms felt heavy as anvils as he raised them and Soda helped to wrestle him out of his jean jacket and slip off his t-shirt.

Soda's smile faltered as he stepped back, hanging the wet clothes over the back of a chair. "Where'd you get those?" Johnny looked down, dark bruises beginning to bloom across his torso in a sickly purple and green. "Same fight." He didn't quite meet Soda's eye.

"Jesus."

Soda came over, handing him a heavy, wool shirt, his eyes staying trained on the bruises. Anger flashed in his eyes and his normally good-natured face weighed down into a frown. "He get you anywhere else?"

"Just here." Johnny touched the side of his face where his cut had crusted over with blood. "And…here." He gestured to where the back of his head was still throbbing mercilessly. _At least he was starting to hear things a bit more clearly._

Soda repeated the same motion that Darry had done earlier, moving his fingers gently alongside the back of his head before resting along a large, painful bump. Soda swore.

"He got ya' good, didn't he?"

Johnny didn't respond.

Soda crouched down below him, leaning down far enough until he fell within Johnny's eyeline. "Johnnycakes?" Johnny remained silent. "Hey…" Soda's voice was soft. "…fuck him. I mean it, Johnny – don't think on that lousy son-of-a-bitch for one second. He doesn't deserve a kid like you." Soda forced a smile, although it didn't reach his eyes. "And, you don't need them, right? You got us. The whole gang. In fact, you never gotta go back if you don't wanna. If we clear out a spot by the desk, we can throw a cot down in the corner of our room and you can stay here for as long as ya' like…"

Johnny felt his eyes tear up as Soda continued on, picturing the life that both he and Soda knew was never going to happen. Johnny would never feel right staying with the Curtis' when they already struggled to pay bills with three people living in the house. He'd only be an extra mouth to feed, and even though they'd never say it, he'd be another burden for them to carry. If only he could work or do anything useful, maybe he'd be able to bring in a little money and help out with rent and food and such, but he didn't have any skills and he was too dumb to learn anything. At least that's what his mother always said.

Johnny sniffed, feeling pathetic. "…does that sound good, kiddo?" Soda finished. Johnny wasn't exactly sure what Soda had been saying, but he nodded his head in agreement, tired of talking. "Sounds good." He rubbed a tear threatening to fall with the back of his hand. Soda squeezed his leg reassuringly. "Okay, next, pants." Johnny took off his stiff, cold jeans and handed them to Soda, who then helped him underneath the covers, the heat radiating out from Pony seeping into his bones and reminding him how tired he was.

"Move over." Soda flicked off the light and squeezed into bed next to them, the three sandwiched together in the full-size bed. While it may have been uncomfortable for other people, Johnny didn't mind. Compared to his normal sleeping arrangements of laying in the open field or on his bare mattress at home, this was better than he normally had.

He could feel the covers start to rustle as Ponyboy began to stir next to him, undoubtedly from the cold presence of Johnny next to him.

"S..Soda?" A half-asleep Pony whispered into the darkness.

"Hey, Pony." Soda returned. "It's me. Johnny's staying over with us tonight too, okay?"

"Is he okay?"

Johnny was about to respond, but Soda beat him to it. "Yeah, he's fine. Everything's fine. Now go to bed, you've got school tomorrow. You too, Johnny."

"Mmmkk.." Pony murmured sleepily, readjusting his position and lapsing into silence.

The weight of tiredness overtook the pounding sensation in Johnny's head as he drifted off with the warmth and comfort of the two brothers pressed against him.


End file.
